What is his life? Where is he to go?
I never wanted to be here. Life seemed to mean more than what it is to me right now. I felt at one point I was in a state of flux, moving so elegantly with the waves. Only now I have found that those waves were a lie. They deceived me into believing I was making progress, only to find that they’ve slowly been pushing me to the shore. The tides had frequently whispered their mockings into my ears. It is only now that it is apparent.
Everyday is now the same. I feel stuck. I have found no reassurance of a greater life. I always wanted to be an author. I constantly thought of this broken dream with every sweep of the broom, or every ringing of the mop. I had decided why not try out my dream. I have nothing to lose.
Every morning, I awoke early. I read my Bible and prayed. I always prayed the same prayer. It always, always flustered me, to ask God to change my life. It felt so self-centered. I have been told to rest on God’s support, that He should be my fulcrum in life. Now with life burying me under its crushing weight, there seemed to be no point. I found a way to fit it into my routine. I was always a routine guy. You might think that the setting that I’m in right now, is a decent bed, in a decent room. If you didn’t think that, then well you were thinking ahead of even my childlike visions of what I thought life would be like in my 20’s. Every night I slept on a bench in the center of the library where I worked. The flickering light had always been an irritant to me. It always had seemed to be a unique fixture in the room but the librarian had told me once, that it had only recently begun to do that. When she uttered the words: “when you started work.” My life had been a garbled image of illustrious misconception. I had always wanted to be adventurous but I had always been the one to screw it up. Constituting this assertion of failure in my life as a flaw that I could not fix, always left me underwhelmed when a gift was presented. I was always hesitant to accept the compliment, the aid, the friend, the tip. Life had seemed miserable 24/7.
The only light that I had caught in my eyes. I know this might sound a little odd but, it was the librarian. This wasn’t the typical librarian. She was beautiful. She had long, brunette colored hair that cascaded down her shoulders. Her eyes a comforting blue. They brightened with every smile. She had always expressed that elegant smile when I arrived every morning from my slumber. She had a perfect hourglass figure but more importantly a vibrant soul. A soul’s presence I could feel across the room. A presence I felt when I thought of the stars and slept with the night.
“You still keeping up?” She said
“Of course” I would say
I wanted to be a romantic. I had this image of a date, where would smile together, laugh together and I would look into those perfect eyes, push her hair behind her ear and kiss her. We would make love through the night and start a perfect life together. That never happened. I had been close, but I could never muster up enough courage. The urge always persisted but my firm foundational center of fear never tumbled. So I continued on with my day, reading, eating scraps I could find, and sleeping on that odd bench that set in the middle of the building, under that center light, flickering with delight.
A light had always slipped through the cracks. I had always felt alone but content. Confliction was and had always been my unchanging companion I could trust. It had always enlightened me with destruction. During my younger years I remember more graceful times. Times where I could say: “Ignorance is bliss,” and kiss the hilltops with the deity. I could laugh with my imaginative heart and crash with the crumbling waves. I was a spontaneous fellow. I was whatever I wanted to be. My father hated me for that. He despised me. His brow was always set towards mine in a callous growl. I lost with every motive. I decided to walk in the shadows. I had attempted to find conformity. To find a life that was better suitable in his eyes. I found no answer, so I desperately gave up all hope. I decided to now walk the rest of my life under the surface. To attempt to live under the judgement of others. A conqueror of my aspirations and a lasting memory of solitude. A work of the ages. A shattering light. A light that I am now afraid of.
I decided not to go to college. Instead I decided to run away my junior year in high school. It was a spontaneous decision. I had packed everything I could find that morning and rode the night with a surrendering flag. I strided through the morning sun until I found this library. It seemed to be so subtle. A perfect spot for my hindrances. I could believe in my action without judgement. I would find a position to work into and live in it.
The reticence that fabricated my internal programing, bewildered me in this world. I stepped timidly into the gothic looking structure. I observed the room steadily. This was wonderful, I thought. The stories, the mysteries, the crimes, the knowledge, all lived here. One day, my book is going to reside on one of those shelves. The cascading staircase circulated rows of books. It was tremendous.
“Who are you looking for?” A man with a clipboard said.
I was paralyzed with fear. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t feel.
“Excuse me.” The man said irritably. His balding scalp shone from the reflection of light from one of the windows above. His mustache overlapped his upper lip and he had a protruding brow. He began to tap the pencil he was holding on the clipboard.
“I was going to…” I was the nemesis of my own. I couldn’t speak because I wouldn’t let myself. A paradoxical inbox of utter confliction that caused a catastrophic obstruction.
“Son. What are you doing?” My father’s voice called.
The vision stopped. I violently shook. I heard a woman laugh. I panned over to my right to see the beautiful woman that would stay with me all these years. She gave me a job on the spot. She introduced me to the works of many diverse authors. She started me out with the classics and worked me through the ages. I was numb with enjoyment. Ever since then though we haven’t had a moment like that ever since.
It’s an odd variable. I’ve grown impatient of a life worth nothing. I remember reading Moby Dick and being so in awe of life on the ocean. Life on the mysterious frontier. What would I find? I hope to find a life worth living. I wanted to find myself. So I packed whatever I had, said my goodbyes, and stepped out into the unknown. I made my way to a bus stop. This was a humid day in Florida. I had sat on the bench. Setting my gaze on the horizon, I saw delusion. I wanted to work my way through the murky waters of life. A bus pulled up and a friendly older white man, sporting a button down shirt, small glasses and a sports cap, invited me in. I gave him whatever I had.
“This isn’t enough kid.”
“Could you cut me some slack, sir?”
“Right when you give me my money.”
That startled me.
“That’s all I have.”
“What’d I tell you kid? You don’t pay, you don’t ride.”
I began to turn around to head outside the bus, the man rattled my dwindling courage.
“I was kidding kid. Come on in.”
“Thank you sir.”
“You alright, little sport? Is something on your mind? Life’s full of questions.”
I began to shake my head.
“Are we gonna go or not?” A man shouted from the back
The bus doors closed and I made my way to the nearest row of seats. A window seat I chose. A reflection of a dangerous man stared back at me. Heritage founded a lost soul, and when I saw that man he fought back. His eyes ran rampant. A behemoth of hypocrisy, this man talks of adventure yet follows a strict schedule. I was scared. Was I really going to go through with this? It seemed nuts. It was respite that had taken course and I had forgotten it all. I started to envision my future. My past. My life.